Writer - Bibliophile - Cat & Dog Mom - Demibisexual - Genealogist - Beginner Podficcer - Chronic Procrastinator - SpoonieThis blog is a safe space. Black lives matter. Trans women are women. Purity culture and anti-vaxxers are what's wrong with the world.
that moment when you're organizing millions of files on computer and find the fic you don't even remember coming up with, but which is pretty much completely outlined just begging to be written...which makes you go back and re-read the universe where it's set...which sets you on a two-day-binge of going over your old stories and realising half of them are unfinished...which then leads to furiously ripping apart the house trying to find out if you wrote the notes down for said stories because THEY NEED AN ENDING DAMN IT
Can I be honest I was a terf for awhile and then I realized they didn’t just hate trans women they also hated themselves too and kept repeating a bunch of mysoginistic shit. And I knew the sexist stuff they said about cis women wasn’t true…and it was so weird it got me thinking about the stuff they were saying about trans women. and I started realizing they didn’t really hate trans women for being trans…they hated that trans women were enjoying being women while TERFs absolutely hated being women. the irony is that their own internalized sexism opened my eyes and turned me into a trans ally.
EPIC WIN IM SO PROUD OF YOU it’s not easy to break free of turd circles since it’s run like a cult. Once you realize they contradict themselves all the time and aren’t even feminists it becomes hard to take any of their arguments seriously
i mean they did also kill jesus. that was a pretty significant thing that happened. like i understand where you’re coming from here but they very much did kill jesus.
the most aggravating fans are the ones that become huge fans of a villainous character but just can’t handle the fact that the villainous character does villainous things and instead said fans invent a million assbackwards headcanons about how the villain is TOTALLY not a villain at all and is some tragic blob where nothing is their fault even up to and including murder and genocide
i feel so fucking bad for my fellow young queers nowadays. so many are being radicalized by the right because we are so disconnected from our past and history and it fucking sucks man
i remember being 14 and just being so lost and uncomfortable in my own skin and getting wrapped up in fucking exclusionary discourse on fucking instagram of all places. i remember not liking myself and being vulnerable and feeling left out, and all these other online queers took me in and said "its fine, you're normal, but we have to fight the not-normal queers to be accepted" and i believed them because who else would i trust?
the idea that there's a wrong kind of gay or trans or queer is so antithetical to what this community is supposed to be about. we're strange, we're outcast. it's so sad to see infighting knowing that its just successful propaganda meant to divide us.
truth is, bigots don't care if you're the "right kind of queer" or not. they still hate you for existing and pandering does nothing but hurt the only community that actually cares. we have to leave behind the mindset that we can only be accepted if we change, because the people who only accept us when we're the "good kind of queer" never fucking respected us in the first place
we're here, we're queer, and we don't have to be "the right kind" to be allowed to exist
Some days I get really fucking tired of the bi-erasure in fanfic. I mean, maybe I'm just having a string of bad luck choosing fics lately, but it seems like everything i open to read has Straight-Coded Character freaking out because they have a crush on someone of the same gender and it's written like Zero-to-Gay-Nothing-in-Between, "alas how will I go on now that I am magically not attracted to the opposite sex the way I have been all my life, now I must be full on gay and never go back".
lowkey what is the point in delving so deep into old religions. do u do it for fun because i struggle to see how a like idk 400 year old monastic sect relates to modern understanding of religions. this isn't an attack btw i get delving into stuff that interests u but like. is there any more behind it? also you are cool and smart
400 years ago, in the 1600s, in what is now Germany there was a guy named Phillipis Aurelius Theophrastus Bombastus Von Honenhiem. But he was a big asshole, so his classmates at university called him "Cacaophrastus" which literally means shit-talker.
He hated how medicine worked. See, even up until 1600, medicine hasn't changed much since the ancient world. The most up-to-date medical textbook, the core of physicians teachings in the 1600s, was a book by Galen. Galen was from ancient greece. People had invented guns, but they hadn't really improved on how Galen thought medicine worked.
Theophrastus, who called himself Paracelsus, was a bit of a rebel. He saw alchemists doing all this fantastic stuff with manufacturing new types of dyes and cosmetics and metal alloys, and he thought, why not use all that stuff for medicine? So he got to using cutting edge knowledge for the purpose of healing the sick. Which he did.
Do you know what the pre-paracelcian prescription for a musket wound was? A poultice made of cow shit and feathers. Paracelsus said to keep the wound clean, and let the body do it's thing. This saved uncounted lives.
He performed experiments, giving the same substance, in the same dose, to different people, and even testing on animals with different phyiologies, and observing how the same amount of the same substance can affect bodies didferently. He wrote "The dose makes the poison" thus inventing the occidental science to toxicology. Every time you go to the doctor, and don't get poisoned, you have this 1600s wizard to thank.
And he was a wizard. Medical knowledge at that time involved the construction of astrological talismans, made of magically imbued metals which counteracted the astral forces thought to cause illnesses. Along with inventing the foundations of modern medicine, he also engaged in the construction of magical amulets and potions, the theories of which all informed his work. Work which formed the foundations of modern medicine.
It's important to know that ideas don't just manifest out of thin air. Everything you do and think is built on vast ziggurats of human ingenuity and failure, and shaped by the history entombed within. I've just decided to learn about my favorite few bricks.
Unironically, vegans need to be advocating for more and better sheep, llama, and alpaca farms. Wool is one of the best fabrics we have in terms of versatility, longevity and most importantly, insulation. Even wet, it retains 80% of it’s insulation potential.
Like, there’s literally nothing you can do to a sheep that’s as morally reprehensible as dumping plastic down the gullet of literally every other living thing. You wanna talk about animal welfare? Talk about reducing the amount of microplastics produced by rayon, polyester, and spandex.
Bruh plant-based sources of clothing exist and are better for the environment and don’t involve slicing an animal’s throat open please shut the fuck up you cunt
A LOT OF THEM DO THINK THIS. They get told this carp by PETA and the like.
People- wool animals are not killed for their wool/hair. Yaks, angora rabbits, angora goats, sheep, alpacas, llamas etc… We SHEAR THEM. Not Flay. Shear. With clippers.
Or some people just gather what falls off the critter, or in the case of “chien” which is dog fluff, you brush that off them.
Healthy happy animals make good fiber. It is monetarily foolish and useless to abuse your animals because then their fiber is bad. You can debate points of husbandry and some parts of industries need change so fight about that.
Updated version of Boy Who Cried Wolf but there are actual wolves every single time and no one ever believes the boy - they get closer and closer every time he tries to warn them, until it's too late and the whole town screams at the boy for not warning them "enough", and blame him for the wolves at their door.
Once upon a time, there was a boy who said, "Hey, guys? This is a big wide mixed meadow and woodland with a river in it."
"Yeah, isn't it great?" said his companions. "It'll be awesome for the sheep once we get the village built."
"Don't you think this looks like a spot where wolves would wait in the trees to ambush animals that come down to eat the grass and drink the water?"
"Dude," said his companion, taking the boy aside by his elbow. "Cut the wolf talk, alright? You're gonna freak everybody out and they're not gonna want to settle in this obviously fruitful place. This will be good for us, so don't mess it up. Tell you what," the companion added, tone turning placating. "If we see wolf sign around, then we'll worry about it. Okay?"
Once upon a time, there was a boy who brought the gnawed skeleton of a deer to the campfire. "Look at this," he said.
"What the hell?" The other settlers were tired after the day's construction, and grouchy at having their dinner interrupted. "Why would you drag that nasty thing into our campfire circle? Nobody needs to see that! We're trying to eat here!"
"This is proof that wolves hunt here," said the boy.
"It's a health hazard, is what it is. Get that shit out of here."
The boy pointed stubbornly to the bones. "Look at the marks here and here. Those are teeth marks. You can see how wide the jaws were."
"That could have been anything," said one settler.
"Yeah. Or it could be old," said another.
"I don't even see what you're talking about," said a third.
"Yeah," they all said. "Those don't even look like tooth marks to me. Those could have been made by rocks, or birds pecking. You're worrying about nothing."
Once upon a time, there was a boy who led his reluctant neighbors to the riverbank. They picked their way through the mud, grimacing, until the boy stopped and gestured at the ground.
"What am I supposed to be looking at?" said one villager.
The boy said, "It's a footprint." He pointed. "And here's another and another. Lots more."
"Lots of animals leave footprints," said the second villager. "Doesn't mean they're wolves."
"You guys told me specifically to watch out for wolves and signs that wolves are around," said the boy. "I went and studied the tracks and sign of every animal around here, under the best trackers and trappers, because you asked me to. This is wolf."
"Yeah, but," the third villager said. "Listen, kid. We can't just go running off on a wolf hunt with only circumstantial stuff. It's lambing season. I've been awake for nineteen hours. I left my boys fixing that hole in the fence so the ram can't get stuck in it again. I'm already behind schedule, and I took time out of it to come look at some mud."
The other villagers nodded. "Yeah," they said. "Yeah, we're busy working hard. We can't be dropping everything every time you see a shadow. You better have something real the next time you raise this kind of alarm."
Once upon a time, a boy awoke a sleeping village.
"What do you want?" they grouched.
"Do you hear that?" the boy said.
The villagers listened for a moment. In the middle distance, an eerie howling rose, held, and fell, only to be picked up by another and another.
"That's disturbing," said one.
"What do you think it is?" asked another.
The boy pointed to a pattern of prints outside the village gate. "That's wolf," he said. The pointing finger moved along the line of the fence. "That's wolf spoor," he said. He raised the finger to the sky. "That howling? It's wolves." He led them to a place where dirt had been clawed out from under the fence. "I came and woke you all up because I found a wolf digging under our fence. Here's a tuft of its hair. Here's where I hit it with my knife and shed its blood. If you get close to the fence, you can smell its musk. There are wolves in this valley, just like I've said from the beginning, and they're getting closer to the village sheep."
The villagers looked at the tracks. They looked at the scratches and the fur. They wrinkled their nose at the spoor. "Gross," one said.
Finally, from the middle of the group someone muttered, "Well it's not here anymore, is it?"
The others made 'good point' faces and murmered along.
"I mean. Crisis averted, right?" the speaker continued. "Nobody's sheep actually got got, right?"
"Yeah, because I was here watching and chased the wolf away," the boy began.
The speaker gave an apologetic grimace. "I don't know, bud," he said. "I've never seen one of these wolves with my own eyes."
"Yeah," said another. "No offense, but you are our wolf watchman. So you'd have an incentive to maintain the narrative that wolves are at our doorstep."
"What? But they are!" The boy gestured at the dig site. "You told me to watch for wolves. You sent me to be trained to track wolves so we'd all know I wasn't imagining or misinterpreting things. You asked me to stay up at night to watch for wolves, and now that I've seen one and chased it off, you don't believe me?"
"Hey, we're just saying none of us have ever actually seen a wolf," said one of the villagers. "Only you. And you do objectively have a bias towards wolf-spotting."
Once upon a time, a boy sprinted screaming across a pasture. He held his sword two-handed, braced against his side. The blade was deckled with crimson. Ahead of him a shadowy hackled body lurched and limped, yelping. In the wake of the two figures, a ewe lay dying, crashed to her knees but still holding her heaving body between the retreating predator and her lamb.
"Holy shit!" their shepherd hollered, running up to his animals. "My sheep! What the hell? I thought we were supposed to be safe from attacks here!"
The boy stumbled to a halt, unable to catch up to his nemesis. He panted, staring after it into the trees.
"Yeah, what the hell?" the other villagers agreed, gathering around the stricken sheep. "Look at this! Are you kidding me? What do we keep you around for, man?"
Wearily, the boy trudged back to the little group. He swayed as he walked. The sword was chipped, the grip worn. He wondered when he could have last been truly called a boy.
"This is the fourth attack this week," he told them.
"Yeah, buddy, it sure fuckin' is!" The villagers surrounded him, red-faced. "We can't keep losing sheep like this! This is unacceptable!"
"It was wolves again," he said.
The villagers threw hands in the air or rolled their eyes. "Oh, give us a break. Always wolves with you."
The boy stared back at them. "Okay, so what do you think it was? It had four legs, right?"
"Obviously. We all saw that," said one.
"And it was hairy?"
"Don't be insulting," said another. "You could see the hair a mile away."
"Big teeth?" the boy asked, gesturing at the lamb's wounds.
"Well it didn't kill it with a hammer," the shepherd said caustically.
"These tracks," the boy said. "Canine, would you say? And these clumps of fur, are they thick and grey?"
The group scoffed and chorused variations on "duh."
The boy looked around at them all. "So all that adds up to...?"
"Lost revenue," the shepherd said loudly. "I can't afford another one like this. Hell, I can't afford this one."
"But what was the animal that dug under your fence to sneak into your pasture to kill your sheep, that we all saw, that had four legs and thick gray hair and had big teeth and left canine prints?"
One of the villagers clapped a weighty hand onto the boy's shoulder. "Kid," he said, "that ain't nobody's job but yours."
"It was a wolf! The last three times were all wolves! It's always been wolves! I've been showing them to you for years! I am your wolf watchman and I am telling you right now that wolves keep getting in here to kill the village sheep, because none of you are listening to me!"
The villagers straightened, drew together. Faces hardened. "Don't you dare take that disrespectful tone with me, boy," said the one who felt he was owed the most deference. "If you want listening, you ain't gonna get it by ranting and shouting."
Once upon a time, a boy stared from the grinning faces of his neighbors, to the animals panting alongside them, and back to the neighbors.
"They're going to protect our sheep," said one of the townspeople.
"Yeah. Fight fire with fire," said another.
The boy found his voice. "You're going to put wolves... in your flocks... on purpose?"
"Hey now, these are different. They're our wolves."
The other shepherds nodded and said things like "Yeah!" and "Our wolves!" One of the wolves was staring, drooling, at a young ewe.
"How do you know they won't, oh I don't know, just eat all your sheep the second you turn your back? As a random, non-specific example?" the boy asked them.
"They're not for eating sheep, they're for defending them," said one. "Totally different."
The boy raked his fingers through his hair. "How are these different, exactly?"
"Well, we're using them, obviously," said the first villager who had spoken. "They're totally legal. The mayor got the council to write it into the town charter. Every shepherd has the right to protect his flock."
One of the wolves was stretching its jaws wide, seeing if it could fit them around the head of a lamb. It noticed the boy watching and hesitated.
"Are you guys seeing what that wolf is doing right now?" the boy said, pointing at it.
The wolf made a split-second decision. The jaws snapped shut and it dragged the lamb away, behind its shepherd's house.
"What the hell!" The boy looked back up at the shepherd's face. "It literally just snatched that lamb out from under your nose! It did it in front of everybody!"
Another shepherd patted the shoulder of the one who had just lost the lamb. "Tragic," he said. "It always hurts, losing a lamb. I'll pray for you."
"What do you mean, pray?" The boy drew his arm back and pointed even harder in the direction the wolf had vanished, as if by gesturing violently enough he could make them react. "The wolf is right over there! We could go chase it or kill it!"
"Whoa there, son," said the prayerful shepherd. "Just because tragedy's hit us today doesn't mean you can just take away our sheepdogs."
"They're not sheepdogs! Who told you they were sheepdogs?"
"Dude, I thought you would be on board with us protecting our sheep from wolves," said another townsperson. "There's no need to slander the business who hired them out to us."
"Which business?" the boy demanded.
"Wolves R Us." The townsperson raised both hands in a placating gesture. "I know how it sounds, but the guy who runs it is totally legit."
The boy strode up to the speaker. "Who? Who runs it?"
"Chill out, dude. It's the mayor."
Once upon a time, a boy fell against the double doors of the town hall, shoving them open. Dust swirled in the shaft of sunlight that slanted into the gloom from the doorway. Every curtain was drawn tightly closed, blocking out the light. He staggered inside, towards the shadowy shape of the mayoral desk at the far end of the hall.
"Sir," he called as he went, "I'm sorry to interrupt you. I know the council told me never to set foot in the town hall again, but this is urgent." He grimaced, glancing down at the hand clasped to his middle. "They're inside the town walls. I don't know why, but they just invited them in like - like nothing would happen." He braced himself with his free hand.
"You're bleeding on my desk," said the voice from the mayoral chair.
The boy blinked. "I was attacked on the way here."
A deep sigh. "Well, son, I'm sorry you feel that way, but you have to admit you sure do rile people up around here. What did you say to provoke them this time? Let me guess - it was wolves all along."
"What? I didn't - sir, I'm the wolf watchman. I watch for wolves and raise the alarm when I see one. That's my job," he added. "I don't think I deserve to get attacked for doing what the town asked."
The chair squeaked as the figure within shifted position. The boy frowned, suddenly realizing something was off.
"I wasn't born yesterday," said the mayor. "We all know something's wrong in this town. People are afraid. Sheep are dying. It's bad for business. But your way isn't working, is it?"
"That's because-"
"Would you let someone else do the talking for once?" the mayor growled. "If you really cared about this place, you'd stop hogging all the attention and just admit you haven't been able to solve anything. I'm handling the problem now. I love this town, and I don't want to see you causing a panic by making a bunch of wild accusations."
The boy sank slowly into the visitor chair across the desk. "Sure, Mr. Mayor," he said, unable to muster the energy for sarcasm. "What a big heart you have."
The mayor's grin gleamed all the way up and down his muzzle. "All the better for running a town with."
"So what's your plan?" the boy asked flatly.
The mayor readjusted his bifocals with a dewclaw. "Fortunately, son, you won't have to worry about that," he said. "It's become clear to me that you and I aren't going to be able to work together. I'm going to have to let you go. Consider yourself terminated, effective immediately."
Later, the boy stood over his threadbare bed, wondering if there were any point to packing his things. He didn't own much; there had never seemed to be enough time to get a proper house built for himself, let alone accumulate possessions. It had been years since they first settled the valley. Tiredness pounded in his sinuses. His knees creaked, his wrists and elbows twinged from long use of his guardsman's sword. He would have liked to have been able to retire. Or at least take an apprentice. Or at least feel like anything he did mattered at all.
Outside, the town had been gathering. Their stares were accusing and their murmurs hostile.
"I heard he's actually been a wolf this entire time," he distinctly heard someone mutter to someone else.
He felt his shoulders tense. He expected rage to boil, but when he turned around he suddenly realized if he went postal now, the rumors would only be worse.
"There are wolves in your flocks," he told them. "They're going to continue killing your sheep until you decide to do something about it. I'm not going to tell you again."
The crowd parted for him, bipedal and quadripedal members alike. They watched him go.
One of the villagers broke the silence when he turned to look at the wolf next to him. "Get a load of that guy," he said. "What an absolute killjoy."
I was just thinking about how we have clearly distinguishable words for Native Americans and Indians from India in Danish and it turns out we probably got it from the Germans because they use the exact same words as us. I love when the internet randomly gives me answers I didn’t even look for.
Consuming dark fiction, though it allows the audience to empathise with morally dubious or outright evil characters, nonetheless increases their overall amount of internal empathy towards other people. Not just bad people benefit from an overall increase in empathy.
Consuming exclusively sanitised, fluffy feel-good fiction with no counterbalancing dark sides does not increase the audience's empathy, because anyone who cannot empathise with The Littlest Cinnamon Roll, who has adventures dealing with happiness and friendship and harmony, is already a lost cause. Rather, such fiction, when all other kinds are excluded, normalises the idea that the only people worth empathising with are the morally pure cinnamon rolls who have never done anything wrong in their entire lives. The normalisation, and reinforcement of same through the standard life cycle of a fandom, reaches such a point that as soon as the characters in question step outside the boundaries of that bubble of innocence by doing (1) problematic thing, they are cancelled for crimes against humanity and the fandom tears itself apart.
This is my explanation for not only why fandoms for fun kids' shows tear themselves apart over the slightest perceived creative slip-up, but also why the most passionately engaged fans of these things (who more often than not precipitate the rot/collapse) tend to be such toxic people in all other spheres of life as well.
I keep telling people this, but SO much of American culture and particularly the ‘Protestant work ethic’ is derived from Calvin’s view that everything in life is predestined by God - that winners and losers are already chosen.
Those Puritan pilgrims who came here seeking ‘religious liberty?’ Hardcore Calvinists who were so obnoxious they were kicked out of their home countries.
And they use this belief to excuse the worst behaviors in American history: Racism, colonialism, genocide, segregation, patriarchy, prejudice against minorities, slavery, economic disparity, low wages, no public healthcare, systems that punish the poor and disabled while rewarding the already wealthy; attempts to impose theocracy and infiltrate democratic institutions to wreck them from within; the constant stream of made-up moral panics; the parochialism and fear of outsiders.
The belief, common among many conservatives, that humans are inherently evil, is why they distrust anything from government that advances the common good and instead praise church-based charity.
I could go on, but just read this.
American conservatism has a distinctive character. Here’s why.
